The Lotus Eaters

some form, though that say may be no more than the option to have a say, with conditions. The second is that, without adequate civilian support, every serious war effort that is not immediately successful is ultimately doomed to failure. Failure in war is, of course, the height of immorality.

In any case, civilian control of the military does not mean that those who never served are best suited to exercise control. Rather, those who have never served are not clearly morally fit to control the military. Neither are those who have enjoyed it and made it a life. Conversely, those who have served and, duty done, left service, have shown a willingness to do that which they do not like, for the common good . . .

—Jorge y Marqueli Mendoza,

Historia y Filosofia Moral,

Legionary Press, Balboa,

Terra Nova, Copyright AC 468

Casa Linda, Balboa, Terra Nova

Carrera still used the Casa for business, and would eventually return to it full time, once the legions had finished deploying from the island to the mainland.

'Sig' Siegel caught him on the upper back balcony of the house, the balcony that looked out over the sea. Carrera was yawning so deeply that he wasn't aware of Sig's arrival until Siegel gave forth an artificial cough.

Carrera stifled the yawn and looked up at the slightly portly, teddy bear look alike. 'Oh, sorry, Sig,' he said.

'You all right, boss?' Sig asked, his voice full of concern.

Carrera nodded. 'For certain values of 'all right,' I am. I'm just tired all the time. You would think a year of fucking off and doing nothing would have been rest enough but . . .' He let that sentence die, incomplete, then said, 'The funny thing is I'm slightly less tired since I got back to work.'

Siegel noticed a four pointed sort of jack Carrera was twirling in the fingers of the hand he had not used to stifle the yawn. 'Caltrops?' Sig asked. 'Is that what this is about, boss? Caltrops.'

Carrera tossed the thing, casually, to the table top, next to a closed notebook atop which was a manila file folder. One sharply pointed arm ended up oriented directly upward. Given the shape defined by the points, it was the only possible orientation.

'That, and a few other things I want you to take charge of.'

'I'm listening, boss.'

'We need something to erect a wide area, instant obstacle. Scatterable mines are out, since the Tauros watch sales of those closely. Besides, I'm not at all sure that scatterable mines can't be remotely sensed, given a sophisticated enough set of sensors.' Carrera's eyes shot upward, toward the United Earth Peace Fleet.

'We suffer from a serious dearth of reliable allies, Sig,' Carrera said, conversationally. 'I trust Sada in Sumer. Pashtia is sort of'—Carrera stuck out one hand over the table, palm down, and wriggled it—'reliable. I don't trust the Federated States past any given election. And the Taurans are, of course, the enemy. Zhong Guo might be.

'Our ability to do things in secret here in Balboa,' he continued, 'is limited; too many eyes on us. Other states in Colombia del Norte and Uhuru are overrun with Kosmos'—Cosmopolitan Progressives—'who stick their unwelcome noses into everything. Our Volgan contacts are good for some things, not so good for others, and we always have to wonder who's reporting what to whom.

'On the other hand, sometimes the enemy of my enemy really is my friend.'

About that Siegel said nothing.

'I've made a deal with Cochin,' Carrera said, 'to provide us with labor, some manufacturing ability, and testing grounds. What I want you to do is to go there. Make contracts to produce these things, tens of millions of them. Then run some experiments to perfect a way to spread them over a considerable area in massive numbers.'

Carrera moved the file folder to one side and opened the notebook, reorienting the latter to show Siegel a sketch drawing of a barrel, stuffed with caltrops, with a linear shaped charge to cut the top from the barrel and an explosive base to expel the contents. The caption on the sketch said, 'Briar Patch.'

Siegel looked it over and exclaimed, 'That's a very cool idea, sir. But there are some problems.'

'More, maybe, than you imagine,' Carrera said. 'These things are going to have to be stored, some of them in the open, for anything up to years. And in one of the wettest countries on the planet.'

'That's what I meant,' Sig explained. 'A high explosive for a projecting charge will damage the contents. And low explosives tend to ruin themselves over time by absorbing water.'

'Right. Figure it out.'

'Why not hand this to Obras Zorilleras to develop?' Sig asked.

'Fernandez tells me there's at least one informer in OZ, but probably only one.'

'Oh. Oh, fuck.'

'It's not that big a deal,' Carrera said, with an indifferent shrug. 'Better one we know about than one we don't. But some things, really secret things, we can't send through OZ anymore.'

Siegel nodded. 'You said three projects, boss.'

'Right. Actually, I said, 'A few more.' Here's another one.' Carrera flipped the page to a different sketch, this one captioned, 'Sarissa.'

'I want you to develop a barrage balloon, to be used in mass, and suitable for making it very hazardous for jet aircraft to overfly an area without going to a height that makes them vulnerable to air defense. Also, I want you to